Everything that happens is from now on
by coffeemess
Summary: "Just for the record," she breathes near his ear, five foot on tippy toes as he grips her arm closer. "This is a one-off thing, never to be spoken about again." "Obviously. I know your shit about Wednesday Addams," he curls his lips mockingly. [girl!Archie]


There are two kinds of guys-

The guy you kiss in hazy party scenes unconsciously within a paramount effect of hormones and biological urging; and then, there's _the guy_ that stands next to your locker, sees you like you're more than the moon and stars themselves, and makes your heart beat a thousand miles just by looking at you.

There are two guys in Archie Andrews' life. She's not sure which one's which.

* * *

 _ **i.**_

The summer before fourth grade starts off just a bit like this: there's a tree, a bike and a young girl who had no impulse-control. Oh, and accompanied by a very opposite-natured friend.

The fifty-sixth afternoon they spend that summer slowly halts to a considerate stop the moment Archie runs off to save a neighbor's cat stuck up in a tree. Cuddles, the purebred nightmare, or as Jughead likes to call it, meows up at the top- _hardly_ terrified. Though, Archie, _good_ girl Archie, with her pre-pubescent heart and torn shorts, hardly cares and risks both of her legs for a life-grappling scene that rocks Jughead's heart just a little as he watches her from down below unsurely. He stands there, feet tapping, arms-crossed under the tree, his back towards his beat-up, blue Power Rangers bike, and feels a sense of alarm when Archie's short legs hit the third branch and it _creaks_.

His eyes are widening with just a hint of fear, he doesn't like showing fear, especially not to Archie- the most fearless and determined little girl he's ever met. Although, he doesn't like to admit the fact that he doesn't want to look scared because he knows that that will make Archie scared, too. He doesn't want that to happen, never wants to. So, he stands there with forced blank and distant eyes, looking noticeably chalky, yet his mind screaming for her to _just get down_!

And for the record, she does get down, but in the most extreme sense possible, which means it's the fault of gravity and her short legs that got her to get a cast from a doctor and spend the latter part of the summer behind the television screen.

It's okay, though. Jughead comes over all the time, anyway; and he's never too late to watch Saturday morning cartoons.

 _ **ii.**_

In fifth grade, Reggie Mantle first kisses a girl and he realizes it's not all that.

But then his friends keep going and going on about stuff like that and he thinks, _hm_ , maybe _I_ did it wrong or something. So he tries it again, and again, and _again_. He tries really hard, sometimes too passionately or too slowly, or anywhere in between. But nothing. There's nothing significant about it.

It's all wet and mush and breathless.

In the end, however, he keeps doing it- _looking_ , _kissing_ , and _sniggering_.

It's all the same until sixth grade, when he does another first: he comforts a crying girl, or more specifically, a crying Archie Andrews- one of the resident good girls, who once told on him to Ms. Ryans when he cheated on a spelling test from Dilton Doiley when they were nine.

"My mom's leaving," she echoes quietly, tears soundlessly drifting down freckles. There is no sob nor hiccup, not like any other girl who has cried when he broke their hearts. "And Jughead- J-j-jughead. He's mad at me. He got mad at me."

Reggie stays next to her on a deserted flight of steps and tries to figure her out while she continuously pour her tears, and maybe a few sniffles, out in his extra white and blue, Junior Bulldogs football uniform. All this time he has looked at her like an untouchable force, a girl hidden behind storybooks and vanilla-frosted cupcakes. She looks different now, though, with her messy red curls and tear-soaked lashes and words that actually resonates to something.

He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he had witnessed his own father leaving him and his mom for someone else- that he has seen his own dad lock lips with a face of another in the back of the house with grappling hands and tumbled clothing. It's the reason it had sparked his curiosity in kissing girls in the first place- to answer the questions in his warm-blooded body if there ever is a good enough reason to do it for the sake of someone else.

So far, he has no answer; but, there, looking at her, he will not hesitate if she'll let him kiss her tears away.

 _ **iii.**_

It becomes sort of a ritual for dad and her to take an hour on a Saturday night to restock the refrigerator. It also becomes sort of a ritual to take Jughead with them.

In the grocery, Archie likes to pretend that she's mom when she's holding onto the cart handles. She takes hold of the cart because her dad is used to picking up heavy milk and pounds of flour. She can't do that yet, she's little. She doesn't like that one bit, so she pretends that she's mom to make her feel a little bit better.

"…And you guys are starting sixth grade," her dad says ecstatically, amazingly without dropping the olive oil bottle. "It just feels like yesterday Archie was just rolling around in her nappies."

"Nice, dad," she drawls, rolling her eyes while Jughead glances at her with an amused smirk playing at his lips. "Just go and regale Jughead with embarrassing stories. I'm fine, really. _Swell_."

"Aw, come on, Arch, you know Jughead's family. He needs to know all the nitty, gritty details. Remember the time whe-"

"Dad, no!"

"It's okay, Mr. Andrews," Jughead responds half-amused, half-smirking, a little quarter of him listening to whatever Indie track his earphones presses into his ears. He tugs a pack of Kraft's Mac n' Cheese off the shelves and sets three down in the cart with routine of awareness. He's been doing that since third grade. "You can save it for Archie's first boyfriend."

"Which reminds me, a few years later, and next thing I know, you two will be in high school. Wonder what that will be like," and her dad looks over at Archie, when Jughead's peering over ice cream cartons with maximum analyzation, and shoots her mouthed words with an accompanied glare, _'no boyfriend 'til your thirty_.'

She sticks her tongue out before leaning against Jughead's shoulder.

 _ **iv.**_

Archie grows boobs a little late than any girl in her class. It's a little weird, though, the fact that just by being pushed face-forward to cold cement can hurt her chest. Her dad looks at her with measured glances, which basically means, no rough games with Jughead anymore.

They don't play rough anyway, Jughead grew out of it years ago, so spending time with Jughead meant more of hanging out in Pop's with a shared chocolate milkshake and another one to-go for himself, and swinging by the Cooper's house for a girly fest with Betty.

These days, it's becoming more of the latter.

"Betty! Pink gloss or clear gloss," Archie swings her legs up on Betty's cotton sheets and uncaps a tube of a new find she bought from the drugstore. "The clear one smells like cookie dough."

"I bet that's good for you," Betty smiles uneasily. "Pink gloss, I guess." But wait. Betty looks over again at Archie, seeing the small girl pressed against fluffy pillows and white sheets and she sees carefully curled hair and eyeliner. "Are you going on a date or something?"

Archie bolts up from the bed, brown doe eyes shooting immediately towards Betty like a deer. And slowly, Betty comes forth to a realization that Archie's blooming. "No, why? Does it look like it?" And Archie unconsciously fidgets with her sweater sleeves.

"Oh my god, you're finally becoming a full-fledged woman, Archiana Andrews!" Betty whisper-shrieks in delight, "finally, someone I can do my nails with now! I thought you would never get over that boyish phase."

"It's just that," Archie slowly says, biting her lower lip, "It just doesn't feel right, ya' know, having boobs and playing in the dirt. And I was feeling this stupid instinct when I was walking down the make-up aisle last Monday, like I was feeling lust or something just looking at nine dollar mascara. Am I turning crazy?"

Betty giggles, "No, Arch, you're just entering the first stage of womanhood."

Archie also clearly remembers the split second moment Jughead gives her a look in his eyes that does not correlate to anything she has ever seen before.

He is half-laughing, hat off, left earphone in, and he's leaning against the same tree she fell off the summer before fourth grade. And she is left transfixed as the sun glistens against his left cheek and _god_ , he is so, _so_ beautiful.

She also clearly remembers the split second moment she realizes she's in love with Jughead Jones.

 _ **v.**_

Freshman year gives way to change. Cheryl Blossom is one of them.

"Hello, dear Archiana Andrews, may I take a minute of your time," and Cheryl's there with her perfectly calculated ruby red lipstick and sickly sugared smile, just like the one her twin brother Jason identically wears. She's patronizing and sweet at the same time, and Archie wonders how's that even possible.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Archie tugs a loose red lock over her ear and holds up her books.

"Look, if you haven't noticed, your new ginger hair perm has been rocking the hot seats of Riverdale high just like it was with Serena Vander Woodsen's return in Gossip Girl season one. But, for some reason, _better_. This _look_ -" Cheryl's eyes wanders down to give her a stark once-over, "is selling like fresh hotcakes on a Saturday morning breakfast buffet. I need _it_. Come to auditions this Friday, Andrews. You're a shoo-in for top of the pyramid." Abruptly, Cheryl sashays down the hall with staccato sounds of Prada.

Thus, on a Saturday morning, Archie Andrews is crowned a newly-made River Vixen.

 _ **vi.**_

"The more you go to cheerleading practice, the more I feel like I have to hate you."

"Don't be like that, Juggie." Betty warns, before sipping the straw of her Vanilla milkshake.

Archie places both of her arms on top of one another on the table at Pop's before resting her head on it. "I'm just trying this thing out, and besides, Cheryl isn't that bad as they say she is-"

"Please, give your excuses for someone who actually cares about Cheryl Blossom."

Betty snaps her head to shoot the boy a look.

Archie halts like a deer in the headlights, before eyeing the table down. She bites her lip, slowly. "A-ah, um okay." Though honestly, _I love you so fucking much and I hope you understand this is a part of my life now,_ is what she really wants to say.

Jughead sighs before pressing his laptop lid down. "Look, Arch, you're my best friend. And sincerely, I get the whole, you want to fit in and stuff, but you don't really need to tell me those things. I get it, you want the whole high school popularity pack, go for it, I don't really care. But the thing is, if you just wanna talk about that and exclude everything else that is important, like I don't know, maybe the running mayor, or issues happening in this goddamn country, then don't bother visiting me."

 _I love you so much, Jughead Jones. Don't be mad at me._

The pregnant pause makes Betty nervously adjust the strap of her book bag before scooting out of the booth, "Um, I'll just. Go to the bathroom."

The fork that Pop's been cleaning falls to the floor, which echoes like a drum telling Archie to explode. _Understand me._ She doesn't, though.

 _ **vii.**_

"Bro, where's the others?" Reggie calls to Jason Blossom, the boy chest-pressed against a long-haired, tightly-clad track athlete.

"With Cheryl's team. She's doing some shit, you should go," he tells Reggie, face with no sign of drunken stupor, just a warning glare to get out of the room. Reggie rolls his eyes before nodding a thanks.

He wades in and out of a drunken sea. In his efforts, he's able to get to the Twin's office in about four minutes.

"Mantle, just in _time_ ," Cheryl coyly greets him as eyes pour into him. He's used to it by now, he doesn't mind the feeling. He loves being the center of it all— laps it in like a dish of milk to a cat.

"Wouldn't waste this for anything," he chuckles before patting some of his friends' back and grabbing a glass of an unidentified liquid that surely must be booze. Before he throws it back against his throat, he spots a familiar mix of orange and red, doe eyes like a princess— a familiar light in a sea of shades.

"—how about let's pair up the ginger cupcake with the infamous Mantle?"

"Just to clarify, this is my first party, and if you do anything _fishy,_ I'm calling the cops." Andrews glares at him like a pedophile, before wrinkling her nose adorably.

" _Fishy_ \- hm, you mean the crackheads in the front of the Blossom's yard smoking pot, _orrrrr_ everyone else in this goddamn party." Reggie shuts the door behind him, then towers over her like a skyscraper. He eyes her with quiet sincerity before pressing his back against the door.

"Shut up, Mantle." She presses her lips into a tight line and just about looks nervously around the small closet space like it's a whole new world.

"Look, Cady Heron, we can do whatever you want. We don't _have_ to do anything. I can always get some later when I feel like it," he rumbles, one hand tracing the flex of his muscles on the other.

He waits for the petite teenager to respond. "That's the thing," he detects a fuming Andrews, "You think you can do whatever you want since you wear a varsity jacket. _Real talk_ , when you're older, it's not like that anymore, just saying." Archie sighs after spilling it out and rubs two of her digits on the bridge of her nose.

Reggie contemplates on it— wraps his around the fact that it's too dark and how he wishes the light could be turned on and so that he can watch her innocent eyes express what she feels like. "Wow, you love giving me reality checks, don't you, West Virginia? First, your mom and now this."

And then, he's pretty sure her eyes has just converted themselves into stone-cold rocks. "She left, I cried. Tried getting over it. It's fucking over, but—"

He steps closer, head bending down until his dark hair touches the little strands of her crown.

"I'm over it, but sometimes it opens up again and again like a… like a wound." She notices he becomes a bit too quiet, and she peers up— and Reggie is so close that it's too weird to move away anymore.

"It's still a wound because you're letting it fester. A wound is healed when it's cleaned and applied with direct pressure. Oh, and tightly bandaged for at least five days," He huskily informs as he lets his fingers trail down the length of her arm.

"Meaning?" Archie whispers, gets a little closer.

"Get over it. Get a distraction. Try to keep going. And one day, when you wake up, it'll be completely gone like it was never there."

"That was an obnoxious meaning for an awful metaphor. That's never going to happen, like _ever_."

"I know," Reggie smirks. "But at least you can try, right?"

"Just for the record," she breathes near his ear, five foot on tippy toes as he grips her arm closer. "This is a one-off thing, never to be spoken about again."

"Obviously. I know your shit about _Wednesday Addams_ ," he curls his lips mockingly.

Archie freezes. "…is it that obvious?"

"No. maybe. I don't know." And then, it's his turn to freeze. Reggie tousles his dark hair. "Look, we've been in the same class since the second grade. I see the way you look at him." Shit. That _was close._

"Oh."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Are you gonna leave me hanging or what?"

He yanks her thin waist before giving her a hungry kiss- and it surprises himself, as in the jolty kind of surprise- the one that shocks him into oblivion, if that is even possible. Because, it's something he's never really felt before, if he's being honest.

Archie melts into him like putty, fingers gripping the back of his head- and _god_ , that's it. Reggie presses himself sideways, _nearer_ , closer in contact, just to dig deeper, basically. And with a swift pull, he wraps his arms around her waist and carries her towards his stomach. She responds easily, grips her thighs around him- throat wreaking havoc of tiny whimpers.

Her mouth is warm, like an awaited coffee in the middle of Pop's.

Like an answer to something he's been searching for.

 _ **viii.**_

"Had fun at that stupid party?" Archie jumps in surprise, before flicking her bedroom light open. Jughead is there, he's wearing that hat, a birthday gift to him from her. He always wears it, swears up and down that it had something to do with bed hair and not because he loves it a lot. Archie doesn't have to tease him, she knows he does. It's fine.

Tips of black hair edges out of it, giving him a fluffy look. His expectant eyes moves towards her, and stays, just like he always does. His laptop is on, it's giving him a bluish-white glow from his lap-nestled seating on her bed.

He looks like home.

"It's..." She feels sick from the ghost lips of Reggie Mantle and turns to her vanity to wipe off the lipstick. And lies. "Kinda boring."

It's the mix of _what the fuck did I just do,_ and _I kissed another boy so HA!_

"Your eyes are windows," he mutters darkly, almost immediately, eyes looking into her soul that it's scary. "But I won't push it."

She bites her lower lip in response.

 _ **ix.**_

When Archie parades down the halls with her favorite mini-skirts and jean jackets, she almost feels a brush of staring eyes. It's not anything important when she looks over her shoulder and sees Reggie next to his locker in a distance. Reggie- with his favorite long-sleeved shirts and snapbacks. He stands tall among all of his significantly gigantic friends, laughing boisterously, playing roughly, and narrating like skeezes— the usual, stereotypical varsity jocks.

He looks over at her, most days.

 _ **x.**_

"This will be the last," Archie breathlessly announces as Reggie pours unending trails of kisses down her throat in the Janitor's closet. "Annoying jerk."

"Sure, Strawberry Shortcake," he laughingly teases, grins comically, before shrugging off his favorite blue long-sleeved shirt with a flourish.

 _ **xi.**_

 **l** **et's hang. 4 pm. U know where.**

\- JJ

 **i'm so sorry! Promised cheryl for madipedis 2day. Tomo! Sorrrrrrryyyyy.**

 **-** arch

 **Hi arch, wanna study later?**

-betty

 **Sorry, betty! Bz!**

-arch

 ** _xii._**

"You got a lot of snapbacks," she muses one afternoon.

Her eyes pores around the room after their hormone-filled rage. The aftermath considers a whole amount of cuddling. There's a ton of things Archie humanely likes about Reggie despite the sex. He's a deadly closet-cuddler and a sci-fi geek. She laughs, thinking about what kids at school will think of when they see his room. It's a nerd galore and doesn't look like it belongs to an aspiring football varsity.

"Hm," he agrees, his gaze sitting still on her. He likes doing that. Maybe it's this sleeping thing when two people who have no relationship obligations liked to do to find solace without having a real partner. Archie doesn't know what that's like, despite being in one herself. This thing with Reggie? She knows it's not going to last. She doesn't care at least one bit about him.

(Okay, maybe she does a bit, but it's not so deep that it'll feel like breaking-up when he _does_ end it.)

Archie's curls messily flows down her bare front, face ever so threatening for a yawn. It's nearing five and they have been at it for at least thirty minutes. Surprisingly, it is Reggie who cannot keep up with her. It's a bit funny if you think about it.

There is a brief pause before Archie sighs forlornly, "You have this look on your face that tells me you wanna say something."

She slowly stretches her arm off under the side of her head and cringes as it results to a pin-pricking feeling. Reggie rolls his eyes, the way he always does, and his voice rasps, "Is that what my face is reduced to? Translucent and shit? You being able to tell me if I want to say something to you?" He makes a face, "What if I'm just thinking of something dumb?"

Archie ignores it before perching up from her side position. "What is it, then?" She questions eagerly. "You say shit a lot," she comments as an afterthought.

"No, it's nothing," he pushes himself off his pillow. It creates some sort of a crescent shape against the material. He falls onto Archie's lap. "It's bullshit."

"Get offa me, I don't want to be your pillow, dumbass." She intones playfully, and fingers reaches down to his hairline, tracing down familiar territory.

"Tough luck, you're already shaped like one."

"Fuck you," Archie says sarcastically, pressing soft fingers against Reggie's left cheek, where his dimple is. "Just to clarify, I'm not a friends-with-benz kinda girl."

"Obviously," Reggie raises a brow, "You're a hopeless romantic. Everyone can see it a mile away."

"So." A pregnant pause. "This shouldn't get out."

"That you're fucking me? It's an honor, really—you'll be royalty by third period," he egotistically chuckles like a douchebag.

She rolls her eyes before replying, "Or another notch down your bedpost, Mantle." She sighs, "It's just… _Just_."

A longer pause. Reggie shifts his gaze from the closed-curtain window towards Archie, upwards.

"Jughead," he says, devoid of emotion. "I know."

Then another, longer silence. And this time, Reggie cannot deal with it.

"I'm hungry," she abruptly tells him, stopping the soft motions of her fingers.

He brings a little smile, the small dimple appearing and pressing against her pointing finger.

"Me too," he admits, before caressing the hand that holds his face.

Archie glances over at Reggie, smile rising up to the tips of her cheeks and to the dark irises of her eyes, and opens up the box before bringing a pot of water to a boil.

And then, he realizes in two seconds of how domestic everything has become to this point- how messed up her hair is and how she's motherfucking cooking in his house's kitchen. Reggie's pretty sure his mom isn't getting home until nine.

He cannot stop watching the small mass of what is Archie Andrews, and right there, he realizes something.

"—Don't burn it, _Martha Stewart_."

"—I know how to cook, Mantle!"

There is some gentle peace gently probing on the wound— the one that his father had ripped a long, long time ago— on the back of his heart, calmly cleaning it out of dirt and debris, her face and red hair covering it up like a bandage.

Reggie Mantle looks at Archie Andrews—actually, _looks_ —and he sees everything.

 _ **xii.**_

"Where have you been, lately?" Jughead wonders out loud in Pop's booth.

Archie takes a steady exhale before forcing a smile that partially reaches her eyes. "Practice."

 _ **xiii.**_

Freshman year ends with the Blossom twins' yearly party.

And Reggie and Archie, despite the odd sense of their hidden relationship, sits in a too-close proximity together in the corner of the kitchen. Everyone may be wondering, but Archie doesn't care at least one bit.

On the other hand, Reggie _does_ hope everyone will notice. _But of course_ , he slides a hand down the back of Archie's back, _while keeping my reputation as a cold, heartless jock._ It's fun that way, he thinks, as he takes another swig of booze.

"You're the first person I told about my mom leaving," she comments off-handedly, peers over her cup.

"I'm pretty sure you were kinda pissed out about _Norman Bates_ that time."

"Don't call him that—"

"What? You mean, _Warm Bodies_?"

"No, just call him by his—"

" _Nightmare before Christmas_? _Slenderman_? _The Son of Dracula_? God, I could last forever."

It halts with her silence. "Okay, look, sorry. I'm giving a full depth of Mantle apologies."

"Jughead's my best friend, Reg," she tells him, a little bit pissed. "It's really… cruel to call him those nicknames in front of me. It's really mean."

"'Really mean' is pushing him against lockers and socking him in the face— and he literally just handles a quarter of what any other loud-mouth loser gets in school. He should be goddamn thankful, honestly," Reggie states the obvious and rolls his eyes. "What I'm doing barely even tips the Riverdale handbook."

"God, and as if you're the virtuous person, right? You acting all shitty in school and stuff, you reek of high school conformity, Reg. And _news flash_ , it smells like cat poop. Can you, for once, stop acting like a douche?"

And then he glares, the statement cutting against his skin. "Continue telling me off like that, I'm not taking you home. You can get stuck here by your lonesome ass, I won't care."

She mumbles something incoherently.

"You're acting like a kid. Grow up, Andrews. This is how it works."

She narrows her eyes at him. "And you're acting like we're in a real relationship, Mantle. But you know, you're _not_ my boyfriend, so you don't really have a say on what you want me to—"

"Yo, Reg." Moose suddenly greets from a distance, drink in hand, his side against some klutzy blonde. "New score?" The farther guy mouths in continuance, over Archie's oblivious head.

He looks down at the fuming girl—and surprised to see her face molding into her casual smile.

Reggie brings his mocking eyes towards Moose in silent agreement. At the same time, he feels _numb_. Moose soundlessly fist-bumps the air.

"Um, yo, Arch," he flexes his eyes for a clearer view from his mildly drunken haze, "I'll just talk to some of the guys- got to, t-"

Archie takes a sip of her juice, eyebrows down, eyes blinking— _naivety_. "Yeah, cool," she agrees dumbly, "I'll just- just, go to the bathroom."

Then Reggie unconsciously bends his head down for a goodbye kiss and Archie casually meets his lips halfway, and it takes them a whole lot longer than a second after the kiss when realization sets in.

Archie stares at him in surprise, eyes blinking, lips parted, remembers ' _And you're acting like we're in a real relationship, Mantle. But you know, you're not my boyfriend'_ , before uttering:

"Oh."

He steadily drinks her surprised face. "Still Jughead?"

She looks, eyes lifeless. "Don't know."

 ** _xiv._**

Archie blurts it on a Monday.

Jughead gives him one, _long_ look, raises a brow, and goes on to continue typing down on his laptop. "Do you take me as a joke?" He mutters darkly.

"What do you mean?" Archie scrunches her brows, mortified.

Jughead swipes his milkshake off the counter and finishes the last drop before speaking, "I know you're with Reggie. I'm not as stupid as Reggie Mantle or any other guy you've been fucking, you know. You don't love me, Archie Andrews."

She glances down on fading of her jeans and starts to think that it's true.

 _ **xv.**_

Archie gets drunk-called on a Wednesday.

" _Hey."_ It starts off.

"…" There's that Rihanna song playing in the background and kids screaming. " _It's Reggie. Uh. You left your, your. Uh. Your T-shirt? I think? Under my bed. It's okay, you can come over and get it. My mom washed it."_

There's a pause.

" _My mom._ _—_ _Fuck, ouch it's took dark in here_ _—_ _Moose, fuck off. Oh yeah. Where was I. Oh right. My mom. She wants to meet you. I told her. A lot of things."_

Archie fists the blankets. It's three am and she's supposed to be sleeping. She whispers, "What things?"

" _You. Special."_

"… _Still Jughead?"_

She squeezes her eyes. "…He's mad at me."

" _Go do that- that shit. That- The wound metaphor I was saying."_

She stops a sob from her throat. "-c- No," she licks her lips, eyes stinging. "That's a shitty metaphor."

A pause. Again.

" _At least you can try, rig_ _—_ "

The call ends. She feels oddly numb.

She does not know it yet, though; but that is the last she hears of Reggie Mantle the whole summer before Jason Blossom dies.

 ** _xvii._**

"I'm sorry." Jughead tells her in the first week of sophomore year. He blinks casually at her, like the fact that they did not talk over the summer went totally normal with him.

"I know." She echoes after him, smile ever so fixed. There is a sort of softness weaving through his face. She wants to feel it with her thumb. She knows he won't let her.

The boy prolongs his gaze before slowly nodding and shifting an odd smile. It doesn't look real at all. Though, that does not stop her. "Are we friends again? Do you… um, want to hang?"

He freezes before slowly levelling his normal gaze at her. The one she really knows.

"To be discussed." He gives off, one eye narrowed, and the change in atmosphere is steady and safe again, like a storm crossing away from the ocean. "Over countless burgers with endless conversations in Pop's."

"With Betty, of course," she adds after a thought. And measures him with an eyeful of _duhh_ , "And Veronica. She's new."

"Whatever. Go do your shit, cheerleader."

"Of course," she leaves the bleachers. And then smiles. And it feels so god to do that.

 _ **xviii.**_

It starts off just a bit like this. She's walking down the halls with a guitar slung over her shoulder and shoulder-length red hair, and she's laughing- really laughing, for real—over what Kevin is saying, and then the most familiar someone she could ever identify drifts past and the circle around her squeezes off oxygen.

And she's pretty sure her heart is beating a thousand miles, and she's not kidding when she realizes the world is so, so much different now.

His eyes meets hers.

 ** _xix._**

"The wound metaphor."

"What about it, Andrews?"

"It's stupid. I don't want a distraction. It's _you_ , Reggie Mantle. You're not a distraction."

* * *

There is a guy in Archie Andrews' life.

He's sort of a different kind.


End file.
